


held on as tightly as you held onto me

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: under 1k fic [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Happy Ending, Inner Dialogue, Light Angst, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, bucky's apartment, tbh idk what to call this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: His voice pulls back the shadows and Bucky is terrified at how right it feels; his name on those lips. My God it's like coming home. Steve, standing in a crumbling apartment in Romania, a home within a home. The walls, Bucky's damaged heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> and I built a home  
> for you  
> for me
> 
> until it disappeared  
> from me  
> from you

Places and things are not people, he knows this like he knows exactly how Steve sounds when he's gearing up for a fight. Like he remembers pressing his fingers to a weakened pulse on that pale neck and murmuring prayers to Saint Jude in hopes that Steve would survive this bout of pneumonia, that asthma attack. His memories are composed of this (him) and that (Saint Jude, patron saint of desperation and lost causes, let me keep him).

Steve stands in the middle of a home Bucky had made for himself and until now, it had always felt hollow. His fingers catch on a journal and Bucky knows, without having to look, what he's staring at. Wrinkled pamphlet, _But you're keepin' the outfit, right?_ Stars and stripes. War bonds and a forced smile. Captain America, not Steve Rogers.

The room seems to meld around his presence, causing him to appear pronounced and larger than life. He doesn't belong here and yet he always has.

 

What Steve doesn't notice is the history that surrounds him. 

Peeling wallpaper: three a.m. with an itchy trigger finger and the need to destroy _something._

Uneven floorboards: bug-out bag for when they come for him, they always find him. it will always end in a fight.

Chipped dishes: holding a cup of coffee with too much force, applying pressure to the wrong places. blood on his fingers, his own this time.

Journal and candy bar atop the fridge: slices of the past catching up with the present ("Ma gave me a dime, lets go buy some chocolate"), memories that pack a punch.

Stripped mattress: carnage, evidence of nightly battles waged when sleep feels more like a small death than release.

Fridge: stocked with firearms, a sure fire method of making damn sure he dies for real this time whether by his own hand or in the midst of an attack.

The room in itself: violent outbursts, long nights laced with insomnia and paranoia, a crime scene of tears and grief. fingernail marks permanently carved into the floor, sobbing Steve's name - his ma's name, his baby sister, Dum Dum and Morita. And too many nights spent squatted there, furiously scratching words in the journal's pages.

 

How many times has he turned in on himself and clutched the journal to his chest? If it could speak, Steve would run away as quickly as he came and who could blame him? Bucky is the epitome of everything they died to protect against. He is a walking funeral hymn with blood under his nails and Steve would be smart to leave. He cannot see the vile details - only sees the bigger picture and idealizes it until it fits something he can hold onto. He overlooks the invisible trail of blood and endless midnight black nights that find Bucky crouched behind his own front door simply because a cat has scratched at it.

He plants himself in Bucky's battles like a flag for a victory they never had; proudly braving hurricane winds and missing the flying debris. He's a damn idiot and Bucky loves him for it. Loves like he has never taken a breath without his heart repeating Steve's name like a litany: _love him, love him, love him. Steve. Steve. Steve._

"Bucky."

Steve turns - seventy years of grief drawing him into Bucky's orbit.

His voice pulls back the shadows and Bucky is terrified at how right it feels; his name on those lips. My God it's like coming home. Steve, standing in a crumbling apartment in Romania, a home within a home. The walls, Bucky's damaged heart.

Bucky.

His name.

His alone.

On Steve's tongue it sounds a lot like, _I love you, please. Please don't go. I know you're scared but you don't have to do this on your own._ It's the fragile sound of hope.

 

Places and things are not people but Steve Rogers encompasses everything.

"You're Steve," Bucky says. Your name, my name, my home in your chest. See how the paint brightens? How the cracks in the teacup fill up with sunshine blond? Steve's heart feels safe, warm.

Though the walls of Bucky's may crumble and the foundation may creak, it's built strong. His heart is battered and bruised; a relic from a war that left shells of them. But Steve is still defending it with his life when most people would've given up on him the first time he got a hand around their throat. As such, Bucky's first instinct is to shield himself from the pain that comes with loving another person and allowing them to crawl around inside of your veins. He's too good to be true. Steve cares for him; there has to be a catch.

"I saw your picture in a museum," he says. The heart is a vicious liar when it's scared.

Steve steps closer, panic in his voice. "Look, I know you're nervous but you're lying."

From there, everything happens so fast. Home becomes a battlefield Bucky will always defend until his dying breath. Men burst in, armed and dangerous, and Steve throws up his shield. Instinctively, Bucky pulls him behind it as well. Steve is caring, putting that love into motion and expecting nothing in return. Safe, Bucky thinks. Steve is his buoy and this is fine. He can do this, he can trust.

He puts his life in Steve's hands; the ultimate test and together they exist in the wreckage. They stand united and stronger with the others presence.

Home is blonde hair, blue eyes and complete disregard for common sense.

For Steve, home is a tired soldier. They are each one half of demolished chaos that forms a whole.

Bucky promises himself he'll slide the pieces into place just as soon as the world stops painting a target on his back.

.

.

.

Two years later, a soldier kisses his sweetheart. 

These walls have holes and scars. The foundation is a constant _under construction_ but each day brings new progress.

**Author's Note:**

> summary is from a song and you just have to hear it to understand the beauty of it. though it doesn't have a happy ending like this, the lyrics still fit. 
> 
> listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUFJJNQGwhk


End file.
